Innocence and Instinct
by Zeada
Summary: She had never wanted to be a part of the big picture. Her only concern was day-to-day survival. Thrown into the middle of a war, Alice discovers secrets about the family she thought she knew.


**Hey, guys! Some of you might remember the old Innocence and Instinct, let me just say: that story sucked. I've gone through a lot personally and it's helped me grow as a writer so without further adieu, here is the new and improved Innocence and Instinct. (Also on AO3) **

* * *

Eighth Street had never had a lot of foot traffic. The street only contained a few townhouses, a church; and formerly, an orphanage. All that was left of the orphanage was a charred wall and half a foundation; and regrown grass that had obviously not been trimmed in several years. It looked brokenly beautiful.

_It doesn't deserve to_, thought a teen, her dark blue eyes narrowing in a glare. The orphanage was as close to Hell on earth than anything could ever despair to be; and Hell did not deserve to be beautiful.

It had been five years since the fire. Five years since Alice Walker died and Zeada took her place. Five years since she had seen these ruins, but could still smell the smoke. The longer she stood before the broken edifice, the more nauseated she became. As her stomach lurched one last time, she turned on her heel and made her way to the cemetery.

That night the cemetery had increased its population by fifty-nine. Fifty-nine unmarked graves for children who had forgotten the meaning of love, for children who forgot their names. She wondered whose grave was whose as she walked the rows. The only distinguishing marker on each grave was the year the children died: 1891. None of the graves were adorned with flowers or toys, not like other child graves.

There was a hill toward the back of the cemetery, a tree covering its lone occupant. Curious, Zeada walked up the hill, ducking under branches and leaves to see the headstone. It was as if someone had punched her in the gut. The grave was fairly recent, only about a couple of years old, but the name still stood out clearly. Mana Walker. She forced herself forward and fell to her knees in front of the marker, her fingertips running along the letters, making sure that what was before her was not some sick illusion.

Memories flooded her mind, memories the pain had pushed away, of happier times, when it was just the three of them.

_It had been snowing, the circus grounds were covered in a layer of white. Alice hid behind a stack of crates, furtively glancing around the side. She let out a scream as a snowball came flying at her face. She ducked back behind the crates in just enough time for the snowball to pass right beside her. From somewhere in front of her, a child burst into laughter. _

_ "Allen!" she snapped, jumping out from behind the boxes. Allen only continued to laugh, completely ignoring her. Alice scowled and reached down to roll and snowball and chucked it at Allen. It hit his face with a _whoompf! _leaving a miffed brunette in its wake. Alice tried to repress her giggles but failed miserably. Her own laughter was interrupted by the sudden presence of snow on her face. "Oof!" _

_ The snowball fight started out innocently enough, just one snowball after the other; the children ducking behind old crates for shelter. Then the two decided that snowballs weren't causing enough damage and the snowball fight became an all out brawl. _

_ "C—c—cold…" Alice muttered, her teeth chattering. _

_ "M—me t—too," Allen agreed, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to trap heat. _

_ "Tr—truce?" Alice asked, huddling closer to her brother. _

_ "Y—yeah… truce." The two got up and sprinted towards Mana's tent, hoping he would have some sort of fire going for them. _

_ "Allen? Alice?" the clown asked, peering up from the book he was reading, "is that you?" _

_ "Mana!" The children launched themselves at the older man, desperate for warmth. Mana let out a yelp when he realized just how cold his children were. _

_ "You two are freezing!" he exclaimed, grabbing a blanket and wrapping them in it. _

_ "A—Allen s—started it!" Alice said as she buried into the blanket. _

_ "Did not!" Allen protested, but scooted closer to his sister for warmth. _

_ "Did too!" Allen only replied by sticking his tongue out at Alice which she reciprocated. _

_ "All right, calm down, you two." Mana chuckled. He turned around and began rummaging through bags and boxes. "What do you two want for..." he trailed off, turning back around to find that the two eight-year-olds had fallen asleep and were using each other as a pillow._

The memory faded, leaving Zeada with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. If Mana was here—was dead—where was Allen? "Where's Allen, Mana?" she asked, a lone tear escaping. "Did you send him away too?" She received no answer save for the wind blowing through the leaves. She didn't know how long she sat in front Mana's grave, but she said nothing.

What could she say? "Thanks for sending me away, Mana, I got branded and my back no longer has feeling." She let out a sigh and crossed her legs under her. "I'll find him, Mana," she finally said, wiping away the few tears that she had shed. "I'll find Allen," she promised.

* * *

A little over a year later, Zeada, in desperate need of a place to sleep, stowed away on a cargo ship travelling across the English Channel. She let out a yawn and pulled her jacket tighter around her. She was deep enough in the cargo hold that no one would check. It had been late the night before that she had sneaked on and her eyelids felt heavy. She let out another yawn before curling up and going to sleep.

_Burning. She was burning. Hot, searing pain travelled down her spine and her screams filled her ears. She tried to thrash against her bonds, but the belts around her wrists and ankles were too tight. The iron was removed from her back and a new burning replaced the old—_

Zeada bolted awake, suddenly seasick. Not that she would have anything to vomit. She hadn't eaten in days. Her back burned, which was impossible, her back couldn't feel anything anymore. Sometimes that thought alone could bring her to tears, knowing that she was robbed and cheated out of a childhood.

It took at least another hour and a half before the ship docked in France. She waited until the workers all left for lunch—or left too look around the city—to leave the ship.

"Not that this place is considered glamorous," she muttered, grimacing as the smell of fish hit her nose.

Several dock workers greeted her in French, but most ignored her. Not that she blamed them, she most likely fit the street urchin stereotype. She caught her reflection in a shop window and scowled. Her hair was in a tangle, greasy mess behind her head, tied back to stay out of the way. She was in good need of a bath; grime stuck to every available surface, turning her pale skin tan. Her dark blue eyes were shadowed by dark bags from numerous sleepless nights. Her clothes, specifically her shirt and threadbare jacket, hung off of her frame; and her cheekbones looked a bit too pronounced. Her pants were unfortunately too short and her boots were a size and a half too small. She rocked back on her heels before setting off down the street.

The farther she moved from the docks, the more lavish the city became. She'd read about Paris in books, but had never actually seen it. From what she saw, though, she was less than impressed. Paris was lavish but it was dirty.

"If I wanted dirt, I could have just stayed in England," she grumbled, sticking her hands in her pants pockets.

She didn't linger long in the city, passing through alleys to avoid people. She walked for hours, positive her feet were bleeding, until she came to a rather thick forest. Zeada was surprised that a forest so dense was so close to such a large city. Faced with her choices she decided that the forest would be more interesting.

The moon was high in the sky and Zeada was unsure of how far into the forest she'd travelled. "Does this thing ever end?!" Her question ended with a scream as she was suddenly plummeting down into a river. She surfaced seconds later, gasping for breath. "What the heck?" Directly before her was a huge castle atop a cliff. How had she not noticed that before? She turned back towards the cliff she had fallen off of. Deciding that turning back was far from worth it, she swam forward towards a small cave in the side of the cliff face.

_I wonder if this counts as taking a bath… _she mused as she swam further into the cave. By the time her arms were about to fall off, a dock came into her view. She let out a sigh of relief and internal cries of joy and swam the last stretch.

As she hauled herself up onto the dock, she let out a groan of pain. She would hurt in the morning, that is, if she could ever move again. She was just thankful to lie down. Zeada heard the chink of metal and tiredly looked up from her prone position on the dock surface. Her eyes widened as she realized that a blade was centimeters from her face. Her eyes travelled the length of the blade to see its owner: a very angry man with very long hair.

"Your options are to leave or die," he said.

"Huh?" Zeada asked, trying to very carefully sit up.

"Kanda, you can't let her leave." A voice came from the bat-like thing flying next to the man's head.

"What do you mean, Komui?" the man, apparently named Kanda, asked.

"She's seen where we live, you have to kill her."

"W—wait! Hold on a second!" Zeada protested, standing up. Kanda dragged his fingers down the length of his blade, the black turning silver. The blade glowed as he swung it at her. She barely dodged it, the sword catching her jacket sleeve. At this point she realized that it was pointless to argue and took off running.

Her wet clothes weighed her down, her pace slower than she would like. She could hear Kanda behind her and hastily shed her jacket, hearing it fall behind her with a wet flop. She slipped several times, narrowly avoiding columns and bannisters.

People dressed in tan coats stared at her in confusion as she pushed past them. "Stop her!" she heard Kanda scream. She turned her head to see bug-like creatures coming after her and turned down a narrow hallway and collided with someone.

"Sorry!" she apologized, skirting around him.

"Oi! Moyashi! Stop her!"

"Crap!" Zeada screamed, running faster. She was quickly getting tired, but knew she could not stop; but the temptation was too great and she slumped against the wall, her chest burning with each breath she took.

She let out a shriek as a hand clasped around her wrist. "Let go of me!" she yelled, trying to wrench her wrist out of the person's grip.

"I found her, Kanda!" A few seconds later a very angry and slightly winded Kanda once again had his sword at her face. "Whoa!" the other male exclaimed, pulling Zeada behind him.

"She could be a spy for the Earl, Moyashi. Move out of the way," Kanda growled.

"Earl? I don't know any earls, or nobility in general for that matter!" Zeada protested. "Look, I'm sorry I stumbled upon your home—"

"Shut up," Kanda snapped.

"If she is a spy, we could interrogate her for information," the white-haired boy in front of her suggested.

"I would rather be interrogated than killed," Zeada piped up.

"Shut up," Kanda repeated.

"Let's take her to Komui and see what he says," the other boy suggested. Kanda slowly sheathed his sword.

"Fine, but he told me to kill her."

"Why is she not dead yet?" Zeada tried yet again to wrench her arm from the white-haired boy's grip. "She could be a spy. Kanda, why is she not dead?"

"Because Moyashi stopped me," Kanda growled.

"My name is Allen!" the white-haired boy snapped. Zeada's head turned to glance up at Allen, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

_Allen? _

"If she is a spy for the Earl, then couldn't we get valuable information from her to use against the Earl?" Allen proposed. The man seated at the desk leaped up and crossed the room to where Zeada was dripping water on the floor.

"Brilliant idea, Allen!" he said, gripping Allen's shoulders. "We can stick her in the dungeon!"

* * *

Zeada hated her life. She was cold, she was wet; and she was chained to a wall. Although she could look on the bright side: this was a place to sleep. She let out a sigh and rattled one of the chains connected to her wrists.

"Keep quiet in there!" snapped her guard, one of the men in tan coats. Zeada contemplated giving the man a rather rude gesture, but his back was turned and it wouldn't be worth it if he never saw it. In all honesty, she was fine with being interrogated, it was being chained in a dungeon she had a problem with.

She sat silently for several minutes before she started losing circulation in her arms. _I wonder…_ she thought, glancing up at her chained wrists. It had been a while since she had used them because they drew too much attention, but in her current dilemma, they were perfect.

A pair of silver-white wings sprouted from her back and hit the wall. She let out a groan of pain and folded her wings around her. Her solution created a new problem: unfurling twelve foot wings in a ten foot room.

Her guard leaped out of his chair, his eyes wide. "S—someone get Komui!" he yelled. "He needs to see this!" Zeada could only sit there, her wings in pain. She glanced up when she heard the shuffling of feet in front of her cell. "I think it's safe to say she isn't a spy, Sir."

The man who had given both the order to kill her and lock her in a dungeon stood in front of her, staring astounded at her wings. He unlocked her cell and walked inside, ignoring her murderous glare. "You could have told us you have Innocence," he said, unlocking her chains. Zeada rubbed her sore wrists, trying to coax the blood to flow.

"What's Innocence? If you mean virginity, then I'd rather not be sacrificed." The man above her looked absolutely scandalized at the thought.

"Sacrifice?! No, Innocence is a substance!" he protested. He held out a hand to the teenager, which she only glared at before standing. "Yours appears to be a Parasite Type," he mused, leading her out of the cell.

"So it's sucking away my life force?" Zeada asked, wincing slightly as her shoes continued to rub blisters on her feet.

"No, a Parasite Type accommodator can turn his—or her—body into an Anti-Akuma weapon," he explained. "On the flip side, Equipment Type accommodators have the Innocence forged into a weapon best suited to them. Kanda's sword is an example."

"Huh?" Zeada asked, the new terms swimming around her brain.

"This would be a lot easier if you had been found by a general," the man, whom she guessed to be Komui, sighed. He scowled as he took in her bedraggled appearance.

"I'm homeless," Zeada said, not batting an eye at his scrutiny.

Komui stared at her, mouth agape, before composing himself. "The Order can teach you how to use your Innocence and give you a home. You won't have to be homeless anymore. You just have to become an Exorcist."

"Then I'll be an Exorcist," Zeada said.

"You could have thought it over," Komui said, his eyes wide. "We're in the middle of a war, one you'll have to fight."

Zeada gave him a shrug. "I fight every day for my next meal or somewhere warm to sleep. Becoming one of your soldiers would be a blessing," she replied. Komui stared at the teen in shock. "If I can fight; let me fight. I do it anyways, give me a reason to."

"Okay," Komui finally said after what seemed like several minutes of silence. "You will have to see Hevlaska, where your Innocence will be tested."

"Tested?" Zeada asked.

"Yes, we need to see how well you can synchronize with your Innocence." Zeada nodded, not really understanding, but deciding to go along with it.

"Do I have to go immediately?" she asked.

"Well, you need to go as soon as possible," Komui replied. "Why? It's not scary."

"I'm not scared, I just feel gross. Is there any possible way that I can be allowed to bathe and get a change of clothes?" Zeada questioned. Komui blinked at her, seeming to process what she had asked.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, leading her down a completely different hallway. "The women's baths are down that hallway and I'll have someone bring you a change of clothes," he said with a smile. Zeada gave him one in return before setting off down the hallway.

The women's baths were large and looked rather Asian in their set up. Zeada sat down by the door and pulled her boots off with a hiss of pain. Her feet were bleeding in several places and stung when the fresh air hit them. Ignoring the pain, she finished stripping and stepped into the warm water.

She let out a sigh of contentment and sank further into the bath. She vowed she would never take a bath for granted ever again. She grabbed what she assumed to be soap and began to scrub, watching as her tan skin turned pale. She had never scrubbed and lathered so furiously in her life. She had no idea how long it took for her to become completely clean, but eventually she climbed out and wrapped a towel around her and sat on the edge of the bath, allowing her feet to hang over the edge and soak.

"Hello?" Zeada glanced up, seeing a girl about her age holding a change of clothes.

"Um, hi," Zeada replied, standing and wrapping her towel tighter around her.

"I'm Lenalee Lee, Komui's sister," the girl greeted, walking over to Zeada.

"I'm Zeada." Zeada took the clothes from Lenalee and gave the other girl a small smile. "Can—can I change?" she asked, and embarrassed flush dusting her cheeks.

"Oh, sorry!" Lenalee apologized, turning her back to Zeada. Zeada changed silently, relishing in the feel of the cool, clean fabric on her skin. The Chinese-style clothes were a bit big on her, but Zeada was just thankful they were clean. "Your feet!" She hadn't realized that Lenalee had turned back around until the girl pointed out Zeada's injured feet.

"My boots were a bit too small so they…rubbed blisters…" Zeada trailed off, staring at the ground, taking in the distressed state of her feet.

"I'll be right back," the Asian girl said before sprinting out of the room. She returned shortly with gauze, antiseptic, and scissors.

"It's fine, really!" Zeada protested. "They'll heal on their own!" Lenalee merely gave a glare. "I'm fine, really!"

"Brother said you've agreed to become an Exorcist," Lenalee said, dragging a chair over to where Zeada was standing. "We're comrades," she continued with a soft smile. "Now sit," she ordered, her smile morphing into a fierce glare. Zeada scowled and let out a huff but relented and sat down in the chair.

Zeada winced as the antiseptic touched her wounds but said nothing. She watched Lenalee as she worked, finally getting a good look at the girl. Lenalee's dark hair was held up in pigtails on the sides of her head; her amethyst eyes kind as she continued dressing Zeada's feet.

"Thank you," Zeada murmured.

"You're welcome," Lenalee replied with a kind smile. "Now," she said, crossing her arms across her chest, "about your hair…"

"What about my hair?" Zeada asked warily. Lenalee arched an eyebrow at her. "I know it looks bad! I just…I like it long…" Lenalee said nothing, but lifted a strand of hair and cut.

It took forty minutes for Lenalee to finish cutting. Zeada marveled at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had been chopped into layers, fraying out at the edges. Lenalee had kept it long, but damage had already been done so her thigh-length hair had receded to her lower back. Her bangs were shorter than the rest of her hair, framing her face. Lenalee had somehow managed to get her hair to part above her left eye and have bangs sweep over her right. The dark-haired teen ran a hand through her hair, relieved that it snagged on hardly any tangles.

"Do you like it?" Zeada turned around, a bright, almost childish smile on her face.

"I love it!" the curly-haired Brit exclaimed, walking over to Lenalee. Lenalee smiled in reply.

"Great," she said, grabbing a broom to sweep up the veritable mountain of hair that she had trimmed from Zeada's head. After she had disposed of the rat's nest she said, "I suppose it's time for you to see Hevlaska now." Zeada gave a nod and followed Lenalee out of the bathroom.

They walked in silence, the only sound their footsteps. "Komui never told me what your Innocence is," Lenalee finally said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Wings," Zeada replied. "This is the first time I've really used them since they appeared six years ago," she admitted sheepishly. She wasn't really keen on going to see Hevlaska—whoever that might be—what she really wanted was to sleep. Unfortunately, sleep seemed to be the last thing she'd be allowed to do.

Lenalee led her to an elevator—or at least, what she thought was an elevator. Komui stood in the center, waiting for her. Lenalee left her with Komui and the two began a long descent.

Zeada took this time to get a good look at Komui. Like his sister, he had stereotypical Asian features. His dark hair flipped up at the nape of his neck. He was tall, towering over Zeada by at least a foot. He wore a white lab coat adorned with a crest of some sort where his left breast pocket would be. She hadn't even realized the elevator had stopped until something wrapped around her arm and lifted her into the air.

Zeada let out a scream of confusion and fear and fought whatever had hold of her. "Do not be scared." The voice that spoke terrified Zeada more than the tendrils wrapped around her ever did. It had an ethereal quality and echoed throughout the chamber.

"I'll be scared if I want to!" the vagabond yelled. "Let go of me!"

"Zeada, meet Hevlaska," Komui said, seemingly unnerved by the whole situation. Zeada wondered if teenage girls were snatched up often around him.

"It is all right, child," the voice spoke again. This time, Zeada turned around to face her captor and all struggling stopped. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Laugh because how cliché could these people get? A dragon? Really? Cry because the dragon's face was starling human from the nose down. The dragon bent its head toward Zeada and once again, the teen tried to flee. "It's all right," it repeated, its forehead resting against Zeada's.

Against her own volition, her wings unfurled.

"Two percent, ten percent, fifteen percent, thirty percent, forty percent, fifty-two percent, seventy percent, eighty-one percent." The dragon set Zeada back down next to Komui. "Your synchronization rate is eighty-one percent," it said. "Zeada, your heart will ease the burden of destruction."

"That's the most cryptic prophecy you've given in a while, Hevlaska," Komui laughed. He turned to Zeada as he guided the elevator upwards. "Eighty-one percent is a pretty high synchronization rate for someone who never knew what Innocence is."

"Yeah…" Zeada replied numbly.

"Are you all right? I'm sorry I don't think I caught your name."

"Zeada." Komui arched a dark eyebrow.

"That's an…odd name," he said carefully.

"I had no name so I named myself," she muttered. Komui smiled and offered her his hand.

"Well, Zeada, welcome to the Black Order."


End file.
